


Glandivahl - To Believe

by JubieMeg



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Abuse, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, F/F, F/M, Heroine's Journey, Love, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Slavery, Thedas, Torture, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-16
Updated: 2018-09-01
Packaged: 2019-06-11 06:43:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15309687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JubieMeg/pseuds/JubieMeg
Summary: The Exalted Council ends and the Inquisition disbands.  The magnitude of the emotional fallout for former Inquisitor Lavellan dawns on her friends who smuggle her out of Orlais to start over in Kirkwall.  Burdened by the loss of her love, identity, and arm she struggles to start the search for Solas.  Making new friends and reforging bonds with the old, she attempts to push forward and hopes that by saving her vhenan, she can save herself.





	1. Starting Over

 

_“There are few regrets sharper than watching fools squander what you sacrificed to achieve.” – Solas_

  


The last thing I remember is being several cups deep into some Antivan wine over a game of Wicked Grace while in Orlais. With the Inquisition clearly compromised by the very sort of thing we swore to fight against, I had no choice but to disband it. In light of everything I learned from Solas how could I not? I’ll admit I have little recollection of the week that followed; but, I’m quite certain I was at a game being hosted by Varric as a goodbye gift. ‘A night to remember!’ he had promised. I don’t even remember agreeing to go. Dorian simply said he wanted to spend one last night with everyone.

That still doesn’t quite explain why I feel like I’m being rocked like a baby or why my throat feels like I had a night drinking the foulest tasting thing Iron Bull could find.  
  
..or maybe it does.

A bout of coughing wakes me. The lingering haze of grogginess momentarily prevents me from recognizing the fact that I am the one doing the sputtering and for a moment I panic.

“Easy there, Bright Eyes,” croons a familiar voice. At his best, Varric Tethras is a suave and charismatic man – qualities one might not expect to find in a Child of the Stone. At his worst? Varric is a sympathetic, nostalgic surfacer who just happens to have a knack for knowing how to get things done. Hearing his voice puts me at ease and gives me the time I need to let my brain and body catch up with each other.

“Bull and Dorian put you up to this?” I croak as my eyes open. Nausea makes it difficult for me to focus and I blink, swallowing back the acidic taste of bile in the back of my throat. Two familiar hands put a drink in my right hand, and before I realize it Varric is doing his own version of what I can assume is a ‘check-up’.

“You could say that,” Varric replies with a smirk. He takes advantage of the fact that I’m in no shape to deck him and instead tries to confirm I’m not running a fever. Without even thinking about it my left shoulder moves – as if to make the left hand swat it away; but, it is in that very moment that I am reminded of one of the many major changes in my life as of late: I lost most of my left arm.

“Varric, you don’t have to do that. Really, I’m fine,” I rasp before greedily downing the contents of my mug. That was my first mistake. I manage to drink half of it and cough up the rest before I catch sight of a jug of water. He moves – wanting to help; but, I manage to find my feet and awkwardly push past him. It doesn’t even dawn on me to make sure this isn’t the last of the water as I make the jug my new mug.

“Really? Have you looked in a mirror recently? Let me paint a picture for you: Not that I ever thought it was possible; but, you looked better after having half a mountain dropped on you.”

The ‘rocking’ sensation I felt earlier returns and tells me a few things. One: we’re on a ship. Two: I need to re-establish my center of balance. I’m almost certain that the half of the jug that I didn’t try to drink soaked me thoroughly. It leaves me frustrated and I lash out, trying to throw the jug at Varric. He catches it with ease and before I realize it the sound of my own yelling fills my ears: “Fenedhis! I don’t have time for this, Varric! I have to get to Tevinter!”

“And just how will you get there unnoticed?” Varric inquires. My dwarven friend manages to maintain composure in most cases and now is no different. He appeals to my sense of logic and to my drive to succeed. “What will you do when you’re there? We’ll find Chuckles; but, first you need to get your head on straight. He already knows the kinds of method’s we’d usually use. You need an angle he won’t expect you to use.”

“If I could just properly hear the _Vir Abelasan_ , I’d have the answers we need,” I reply, frustrated with the situation. My emotions have the better of me and I’m not thinking clearly. Varric did just say we would need an angle he wouldn’t expect.

“I’m not so sure about that,” Varric replies. The furrow of his brow is the same now as it was when he learned Bianca leaked information to our enemies. His voice says he his calm; but, his expression tells me he is worried. “Didn’t you say Fen’Harel and Mythal were close?” he continues, and gets close enough to give my remaining arm a supportive squeeze.

“Listen. If you’re set on wanting to maybe get more information out of the ancient elves in your head, I have a friend you may want to talk to. She has a thing for ancient elvehn shit and found the First Eluvian I ever laid eyes on. She might be able to help you.”

I’ve read Varric’s _Tales of the Champion_. I know who he’s talking about. We never met directly; but, I met members of her former clan.

“She was the Keeper’s First, like me,” I reply, somewhat surprised to find that my own voice has softened. I hadn’t realized just how loud I had become.

“And she left Her Clan, like you. She had the opportunity to return; but, chose not to. She’s as good a person as any to start with that ancient mystical shit. Besides. Don’t you remember? I made you a Comtesse. Got Clan Lavellan some political clout because of their work in Wycome. Maybe take a few weeks to figure this out, establish a new base of operations, and who knows? You might even improve some lives along the way.”

Varric holds my gaze for some time. Eventually I sigh and acquiesce to his suggestions. I barely have the sense of coherency to continue the conversation. Mercifully a knock on the door brings a matter to a close. The knock is accompanied by a familiar voice; but, one I don’t immediately place.

“Master Tethras? We’re nearing Kirkwall.”  


* * *

By the time I clean myself up and slip out of the ship’s quarters, the vessel on which Varric smuggled me out of Orlais has slowed. Its crew works together in a timely fashion and only under the guidance of a smaller ship pulling us into port along with the aid of the harbormaster are we able to fully dock. The change in atmosphere is almost immediate. No longer do we enjoy the invigorating salty air of the sea. The dank stench of seaweed and drying fish intermingled with dock worker sweat isn’t the most unpleasant thing in the world under normal circumstances; but, nursing a hangover means the scents and sounds do induce an unusual level of queasiness.

It’s all I can do to keep from vomiting as I follow Varric to solid ground. This isn’t my first time to Kirkwall; but, it is the first time I will be spending any significant amount of time here. Between that and the whirlwind pace of the events of the Exalted Council, I fail to really connect with my surroundings. Feeling more than a little overwhelmed, I stare off into space – losing track of the conversation.

“We simply do not have her accommodations, ready,” emphasizes the familiar, albeit slightly nasal-toned voice from earlier. To Viscount Varric Tetrhas, the tall male brunette with whom he speaks is a pain in the ass. To everyone at the Keep he is the Seneschal – the man tasked with the seemingly impossible and never-ending task of wrangling Varric.

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but Lord Harimann’s heirs left their estate open when they returned to Starkhaven, right?” Varric notes, seeming reluctant to let the issue go.

“Yes; but, there is paperwork to be done to handle that and you still have Merchant Guild matters that require your attention.”

Rather than let Bran continue, Varric waves a hand and retorts, “Look. I’ll be in the Keep first thing in the morning and promise to spend the next _three_ days doing paperwork and whatever else your twitterpated heart desires. Just get that estate ready for the Comtesse to move into as soon as possible.”

They continue for a few minutes more; but, I seem largely uninterested in their discussion. The truth of the matter is I’m barely even half aware of what’s going on. It isn’t until Varric waves a hand in front of me that I snap out of the groggy stare and turn my attention to the two men and manage to offer, “The more quickly we get away from here, the less your chances are of cleaning up vomit.”

The seneschal sighs and slightly shakes his head; but, he does offer a polite nod of his head before excusing himself. I half expect Varric to laugh; but, instead he simply looks at me, concerned. Eventually he gestures with a hand and notes, “Let’s get you to Hightown. I’ve a key to Hawke’s place. She’s not back from Weisshaupt; but, I’m pretty sure she wouldn’t care if you made yourself at home. She has a paid servant, who can cook practically anything, and to be honest – I’d feel a lot better knowing you were in good hands.”

I nod numbly at my friend and follow him. Our surroundings are really just one giant blur for me and by the time we reach Hawke’s home I’m grateful for the distance between us and the rest of the noise of the Port City. Varric leads me to a chair by a fireplace where I sit while he talks with another young Elvehn woman. He quietly slips a piece of paper and some gold to her and after a bit of exchange, he grabs a seat in the chair across from me. Leaning forward, he rests his arms on his knees and offers a surprisingly gentle, “Talk to me, Elle.”

“What do you want me to say, Varric?” I ask, a little more defensively than I had intended.

“I don’t know. I can’t imagine you’re _ready_ to talk about all of the recent political shit that blew up in our faces, let alone the personal stuff. I just need to get a sense of just how ‘with it’ you are, here. A lot of your friends are worried about you, and I’m the one writing the letters,” he replies, lifting his hands palms-upward. If this is his way of shooting straight with me, I appreciate it; but, can’t quite yet articulate that.

It takes me a few moments to gather my wits about me. Honestly, I had kept myself so busy in the two years after we defeated Corypheus that I haven’t had time to process. I haven’t given myself time to process much of anything. The title of ‘Inquisitor’ comes with a whole set of expectations and responsibilities. It also comes with the feeling that you have to live up to an ideal or reputation. You spend so much of your time convincing everyone that everything’s going to be alright that you halfway convince yourself in the process.

The Qunari Infiltration of the Inquisition. Learning all of the Gods you ever revered, the _Evanuris_ , were just powerful elvehn mages. Reuniting with Solas only to have him walk away _again_.

“I ..don’t really remember much after making the decision to disband the Inquisition,” I explain, exhaling softly. “I tried searching for Solas in the fade that night, and the night after; but, to be honest I’m still not even sure _how_ anyone managed to convince me to join in on poker night.”

This isn’t something that is going to be fixed over night; but, even talking about this much feels more real to me now than the events of the past two or three weeks. Varric, to his credit, doesn’t seem surprised by this admission. Instead he leans backwards, allowing himself a moment to relax.

“To be honest I’m kind of surprised you didn’t fall apart sooner. Even Hawke has her limits. You? Conclave explodes, a demon takes your memories, you get accused of causing the whole thing and your response was ‘ _How Can I Help_ ’,” he chuckles. Were I paying attention to the fine details, I might notice the tenderness with which Varric speaks. As it stands, I do get the sense that it’s okay to talk about some of this with him, even if I’m not sure what ‘this’ is.

“Sera threatened to knock you out after she caught you sleep-walking by the Eluvians. Vivienne wanted to force you into a month’s worth of Spa services. Rainier is the one who suggested putting some distance between you and all of that nonsense. I know not everyone has forgiven the man yet; but, he knows a thing or two about trauma in the line of duty. I brought it up with Dorian and the Iron Bull and they hatched the plan. “

My brow furrows as I listen to Varric talk about the experiences and perspectives of others. I don’t really know what to think about any of that because I don’t really remember any of it. Varric sees the expression on my face and explains, “See, I don’t think you were actually resting when you slept. Cole kept an eye on you and suggested you were in the fade, searching, night after night. Now you know I don’t like taking away a person’s choice; but, we decided to slip you something that made sure you got some actual rest. Nothing to cut you off from searching completely, just – something to bypass that whole lucid dreaming stuff and go straight for a deep sleep. Dorian assured me the effects would wear off after about three days.”

I could be upset. I probably _should_ be upset. Robbing someone of their choice is the thing people should avoid doing whenever possible. But from what Varric says I gather no one wanted to see me hurt. It takes some effort to remind myself that it’s a good thing to have so many friends who care.

“Oh,” he interjects, right as I’m about to respond. “Bull may have smuggled you out in a rug. I’m sure Leili.. Divine Victoria’s agents know you’re gone now; but, they’ll have a hard time operating here in Kirkwall. So while you don’t have what I’d call anonymity – you will have some breathing room – at least as far as the Chantry’s concerned. With the Templar Order in ruins and Fiona’s College of Enchanters, I think they’re going to have their hands full.”

“…I see,” is the eventual reply I give him. Considering the amount of pies that Sera and I threw at Orlesian and Ferelden nobility alike, I’m not terribly surprised that someone else came up with a hairbrained scheme. A faint smile finally crosses my face; however, the other elvehn returns – this time from a neighboring room.

“I’ve drawn the bath for the Mistress as you requested, Master Tethras,” she explains, taking a moment to look over at me with some measure of concern. “I’ve also turned down the bed should she prefer to rest before eating.”

“Elle, this is Orana. She’s going to take care of you while you’re here. I’m going to be scarce for a few days; but, Orana will be here if you need anything. The Guard Captain may stop by and pay a visit too. She wants to thank you personally for supporting the Guard in the face of that crap with Starkhaven,” Varric explains. We both rise from our seats; but, before he excuses itself I make it a point to rest my hand on his shoulder.

“Thanks, Varric.”


	2. Lost Souls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merrill: A First who left her clan to try and reclaim a piece of Elven history.  
> Ellana: A First who learned their Gods were nothing more than a lie, and feels she cannot return too
> 
> The two meet for the first time and embark upon what is at first an uneasy association.

“ _I am study.  I am a learning thirst.  Come, know what has not been lost.” – Ghil Dirtharlen_  
  
I thought I knew what it meant to be connected to my culture, to the land, and to my people.  As the Keeper’s First I studied what we believed to be the most ancient lore, memorized every legend I could, and learned what I could of our written language.   Drinking of the Vir Abelasan provided such a profound experience that I was humbled, believing to reclaim what was lost for the people.   I didn’t understand, then.   
  
To be honest I’m not sure that I’m any closer to understanding now.   I feel like I need to bridge a gap.  Varric has given me a place to begin; but, today is the first day I’ve stepped outside to see Kirkwall for myself.   Three days.  My dwarven friend had eyes on me at my temporary lodging to make certain that I took three days bed rest.   
  
I should thank him.  
  
Kirkwall is a place for “casual sight-seeing” if you’re an Orlesian wanting to slum it perhaps; but, for an elf it isn’t the kindest of places.  It isn’t unusual to see elves in the market place; but, if you’re an elf in Hightown, chances are you’re a servant and not a resident of ‘acceptable status’.   
  
It isn’t the smell of salt on the air or fish that greets me as I near the Alienage.  No – instead it’s the metallic tang of the foundry that makes me cringe as I near the stairs leading into the community.  One would think the haze from the chimneys might cloud over the area; but, to my surprise there is none.  It isn’t until I near the _vhenadahl_ in the center of the Alienage that I sense a faint current of magical energy circulating through the air around the tree.  It’s barely perceptible really and I’m immediately intrigued.  
  
My hand moves to rest against the tree itself and for the faintest of moments, I imagine Solas here with me.  He may care little for the culture of the Alienages or of the Dalish; but, it was him who taught me how to be more sensitive to such things and even replicate them to a certain extent.   
  
‘ _This was a mistake_ ,’ I think to myself.  Even imagining him here is a little more than I can handle right now.  My hand pulls away quickly and I find myself taking a few steps back.  Varric had left a map; but, I didn’t think I would need it.  Most of the elves of the alienage are hard at work or attempting to gather some kind of a living together; but, with what little I know of Merrill – I reach out with my senses in search of magical energy that would be familiar to me: the magic of a keeper.  There are faint traces leading to a dwelling that’s to my right; but, it’s the additional _flavor_ of ancient elvehn magic that also comes from that direction that has me more curious.  
  
Before I can raise my hand to knock on the door however – it opens from the other side.  I barely have time to duck out of the way before she slips out of the doorway, bucket of liquid in hand.  Catching sight of me out of the corner of her eye, she lets loose a small squeak – dropping the bucket onto the cobblestone ground beneath her.  “By the Dread Wolf, you startled me!” she exclaims.  Taking a step back she places herself back in the doorway, and I notice her posture is almost defensive.   
  
I wince inwardly at the reference to Fen’Harel, partly on Solas’ behalf and partly because it touches on truths I’m not entirely sure I’m prepared to discuss.  For a moment I stiffen, standing straight as a board and quite honestly, mentally kick myself for trying this so soon.   
  
“I’m Ellana, originally from Clan Lavellan,” I begin awkwardly as my hand skirts to the back of my neck. I rub it self-consciously and glance at the ground, hoping to find something that will distract me from this sense of anxiety.  I took part in The Great Game at Halamshiral.  You would think I could manage basic conversation with someone in a similar position.  “Varric suggested I drop in for a visit?”  
  
“Oh!” she exclaims.  “You’re her! The Inquisitor!”  Her face lights up immediately – bright smile revealing a dimple in her chin.  I think she’s older than me; but, _Tales of the Champion_ had suggested she carried herself with the air of someone who was young and inexperienced.  It has been some time since that book was written; yet, I can’t help but wonder how much has changed.  
  
“That’s not my title anymore,” I reply, shoulders relaxing.   
  
“Ooh that’s right.  You’re a Comtesse now, aren’t you?  Should I call you My Lady?” she asks curiously before stepping to the side.  “Well don’t just stand there! Come in! Come in! I’ve just finished cleaning so my home is actually fit for visitors for once!”  
  
“Please don’t,” comes the amused reply.    “Call me Ellana or Elle.  I know _why_ Varric gave me the title; but, I really – just want to have a space where I can be _me_ , if that makes sense.”  
  
I’m a little taken a back by the next look that she gives me.  One moment the other woman seems absent minded and the next she looks at me in a way that makes me feel like she’s looking _through_ me.   
  
“Do you even know who that is?” she inquires curiously.  I try putting forth the effort to keep the shock at the casual way in which she asked that expression from reaching my face; but, I’m fairly certain I fail given the nature in which her expression shifts to one of sympathy.    
  
“What I mean by that – is do any of us really know who we are?  Our Clans claim to know themselves well; but, they’re afraid of change.  They’re afraid of moving forward and claim to want to maintain the old ways; but, they’re afraid of doing anything at all too.”  
  
I breathe a sigh of relief at that statement and nod simply, relaxing once more.  Merrill makes it a point to offer me a seat and sets to readying what hospitality she has to offer. It’s something familiar and makes me feel a little grateful even.  For a moment I’m left to look at the surroundings which carry the look of someone who has put a lot of effort into making a place more livable while appealing to a minimalist sort of lifestyle.  There are Dalish trinkets – and trinkets of another sort.   
  
“Varric told me not to pry too much – at least not too quickly; but is it okay if I ask something?” she inquires, placing cups of clean water for us both and some dried meat and berries for us to share.  Her curiosity reminds me in part of my own interactions with Solas. I remember how much I learned from him from conversations like this – and my own thirst for knowledge that came with it.  I’m really hoping this doesn’t get too personal too quickly; but, before I realize it I find my mouth answering before my brain finishes chewing on the idea.  “Only if it’s okay if I ask something in return,” I reply, surprising myself with this sense of bravery.  Maybe it’s because we’re two elven mages who left our clans only to find we couldn’t really return; but, there’s a strange sense of comfort that comes from the exchange and from our environment.   
  
“If you were Keeper Deshana’s first – why don’t you have any Vallaslin?”  
  
A more thoughtful person might suggest not broaching this topic immediately.  I _should_ warn her.  It wouldn’t be fair of me to rip away what may be a part of her paradigm and understanding of The People.  Varric didn’t tell me how much he had shared with Merrill and so I’m left with a decision with which I would normally prefer to be more careful.   
  
…Of course I handle in the most indelicate way possible and explain, “Because I learned Vallaslin was a way in which Ancient Elves marked slaves as their own – and we swore never to submit.”   
  
I don’t really know Merrill well enough to recognize her _tells_ ; but, she doesn’t appear shocked or hurt by my answers.  _Thoughtful_ perhaps; but, it isn’t something which makes me feel like I’ve crossed a line.  Emboldened by this fact I follow up with a question of my own.  “Your Vallaslin doesn’t resemble a pattern I recognize – and your accent doesn’t really resemble other Dalish from Fereldan or the Free Marches.  Where are you from originally?”  
  
“I was born into Clan Alerion; but, I was the third to come into my magic there.  I joined the Sabrae Clan with Keeper Marethari after the _Arlathven_ that followed. It was actually your Keeper who encouraged it. Some of the Sabrae Clan made it ..difficult.  Clan traditions vary from region to region and Clan Alerion wandered Nevarra.  I was quite young; but, they weren’t as scared of spirits or demons or the dead.  I asked all sorts of questions and Keeper Marethari was very patient with me; but, the rest of the clan never really considered me _theirs_.”  
  
She pauses – taking a moment to sip her water.  “I always thought the vallaslin should be personal and mean something to you.  So – I chose a pattern with Nevarran influences to represent my roots instead of anyone in the Elvehn Pantheon.  You could say I ..stretched the truth of it when I told them it combined Dirthamen with Falon’Din but with Alerion sensibilities; but, it doesn’t really matter now.”  
  
Something in Merrill’s tone makes me want to push for more; but, that would mean going both ways and I’m not sure that I want to go there yet.    Instead I find myself asking, “Did Varric tell you that we found an ancient temple to Mythal in the Arbor Wilds?”  
  
Merrill’s facial expression brightens at the question and she nods slightly.  “He told me there were _real_ elvehn who slept – In Uthenera – and woke only to battle intruders.  He also said you drank from a well and have the knowledge of the ancient ones in your head.  That must have been strange and exciting.  What’s that like?”  


  
“This is – this is where it’s going to get weird.  There is so much to say and I don’t want to rip everything you know to shreds.  I’m still coming to terms with it myself.  Are you familiar with _Asha’bellanar?_ ” I inquire tentatively.  The fingers on my hand lightly scrape at the arm of the wooden chair; but, Merrill doesn’t appear to notice my nervousness.  Or if she does, she doesn’t comment on it.  Instead, that bright and cheerful expression remains.  
  
“Oh, yes!  I met her once! Hawke carried a tiny piece of her from Fereldan to Kirkwall.  I had the privilege of performing the ritual to free her so she could be whole.  She was _beautiful_ and it was all I could do to greet her properly,” Merrill explains giddily.  “I felt like I was coming into my magic all over again.”  
  
“….Well,” I begin, shifting a little uncomfortably in my chair.  “She is also known as Flemeth to the Fereldans, and it wasn’t a spirit or demon that she made a deal with.   It was Mythal.  Mythal is a part of her.  Asha’bellanar is Mythal.”  
  
The other woman’s eyes grow wide.  The silence that follows makes me glance away from her for a moment because I don’t quite know what to make of it.  Any anxiety or concerns I have about diving right into this are surprisingly put to rest by a squeal of delight.   “Get out! How ..how did you find all of this out?  Was it that well?”  
  
Alright.  It’s not as if I’m telling her Mythal’s not a Goddess yet.  Deserving respect? Certainly.  Probably.  That’s a topic for another discussion; but, for now I nod.  “I drank from the _Vir Abelasan_.  Everyone whom has ever served Mythal, when it came time for them to enter Uthenera, they left all of their knowledge and ..everything they had learned in the well.  A piece of themselves that I don’t believe they ever saw again lingered there.  All of that knowledge and all of those voices.”   
  
She refrains from speaking just yet; but, she does pull her legs underneath her and sits on the edge of her chair, regarding me with an intensity that makes me feel _uncomfortable_.  It’s the same intense gaze I’ve received from others in the past – usually due to their fanatical belief that I was their herald.  I don’t like being put on a pedestal, especially not when I feel like I’m inevitably going to let them down in some way.    
  
Clearing my throat, I continue.  “Flemeth’s daughter happened to be a friend of the Hero of Fereldan.  We met while she was serving as Empress Celene’s mystical advisor; but, she joined the Inquisition.  She too is a Witch of the Wilds, named Morrigan.  It was Morrigan who showed me to an Eluvian – how to open one and use it.  She said Corypheus wanted the Eluvian at the Temple.  We eventually figured out that he wanted his servant, a Red Templar named Samson, to become the next vessel for the well.  Fortunately we got there before him; but, barely.  After being lied to by Morrigan, who insisted she was the only one prepared for the Well’s knowledge, I didn’t feel comfortable leaving it in her hands.”  
  
“The leader of the elvehn there, Abelas, said because we had petitioned Mythal in the Old Ways, I had earned the right.  So I drank of the well.  It wasn’t until later, when Morrigan’s son disappeared and she and I found him with _Asha’bellanar_ that the All Mother used the power of the well to make me restrain Morrigan.  That’s when it dawned on Morrigan and me.  I don’t know if it was because of the Anchor or because I lacked Morrigan’s so-called training; but, the voices were quiet even then.  The anchor was ..taken from me when I lost my arm a few weeks ago and while I still feel their presence, I no longer hear them.  Varric suggested that together we might be able to fix that.  More trouble is coming for all of Thedas and there is someone dear to me that I want to save, if I can.  Only he is ..very powerful and knowledgeable of ancient magics and three steps ahead of me.”  
  
“So you need the knowledge of the well to find him,” Merrill replies.  She considers this for a time while eyeing me and for a moment I feel like I am being sized up.  Eventually her facial expression shifts to a far off look and for a few minutes we sit there in silence.   
  
“Merrill?” I inquire gently.  
  
“Hm?” she asks as her attention is drawn back to the here and now.  “Oh yes!  I believe I can help you; but, we’ll have to return to this Temple.  I know of an Eluvian through which we can get there; but, it has a specific key.  I’m more of a pariah to the Dalish than you are so I can’t approach the Clans roaming the Free Marches to make inquiries.  I’ll have to check the tomes that I have to see if I can find the name of the thing again; but, when I find it you’ll be the first to know.”  
  
“You’re suggesting I approach the clans and ask around?” I inquire with arch of an eyebrow.     
  
“I had my Valaslin *removed*, Merrill.  Even if I explained _why_  they might not believe me.”  
  
“No.  I was trying to infer that what we’re looking for to unlock the eluvian is a clan treasure.  I can’t remember which treasure it is let alone which clan has it.  I have some notes tucked away; but, there are many of them and they’re out of order,” Merrill replies pointedly.   “Some of them I haven’t looked at since you formed the Inquisition.”  
  
A clan _treasure_?  It only takes me a few moments to mull over her words before realization hits.  My eyes narrow at Merrill; but, whatever frustration I feel is far outmatched by the growing sense of dread.  She wants me to invoke * _vir sulevanan*_ when I don’t even know if they will think of me as one of the people.  Other concerns arise – surrounding Merrill’s refusal to say that in the first place; but, I am reminded of the way in which my own Keeper would engage my brain in a battle of wits.  It’s why I was able to navigate The Great Game to begin with.    
  
“You _saved_ your Clan, Elle.  I _killed_ my Keeper,” she says softly.  
  
I can’t even find the words with which to respond to that.  I’m not even *sure* that I *want* to work with her because of that admission.  My stomach churns just thinking about it; but, the truth is I don’t know the whole of her story.  Vivienne’s smug face and her judgmental tone come to mind as do thoughts of Warden Rainier.  I didn’t know his circumstances at all and regardless of how much vitriol and judgement Vivienne threw his way, he proved himself to be an honorable and principled man.   
  
“Okay,” I manage after a moment.  I don’t press with any further questions; but, I no longer feel comfortable just sitting here either.   
  
“Thank you – for helping me.  We’ll talk more later this week?”  
  
“ _Ma serannas, Ellana,”_ Merrill replies.  “ _Mythal’enaste.”_


	3. Letters and Gratitude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Varric attempts to cope with his guilt through letter-writing when Guard Captain Aveline pays him a brief visit. Ellana, struggling to define the sense of loss that she feels, tries her own hand at writing a letter to her Keeper.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ((I apologize for the change in perspectives. Trying to figure out how to tell the story through multiple characters while Ellana maintains a first person pov is a bit challenging. Decided to simply go for it.))

_You can't miss the Keep. It practically screams, 'Nothing fun ever happens here!'_ _– Varric Tethras_  
  
  
_Chuckles,_  
  
_I don’t know if you’re going to read this. Hell I’m not even sure if this is going to work.  But I figure if anyone is going to take you to task for breaking Lavellan it may as well be me.  It was obvious to me how much you two cared about each other, and I guess you thought you were doing her a favor by not pulling her into this crazy ‘tear down the veil’ scheme of yours. The thing is, when you vanish on a person who loves you for two years and appear just to take powerful magic from them along with their arm, well.._  
  
A snort sounded as Varric looked over the letter he worked on.   
  
“Too serious? Not serious enough? Will it get the point across?”  
  
After finishing the three days of work and catching up on Guild business the Viscount of Kirkwall turned his attention to letter writing.  It would probably be easier to send an update to Dorian or Divine Victoria than try to pen a letter to his now least-favorite apostate hobo; but, sometimes the writer had little choice in what he wrote.  Sometimes the subject material demanded it as it did in this case.  
  
  
  
_Chuckles,_  
  
_I know a thing or two about being separated from someone you love for a greater cause.  The reason Bianca and I never worked out is because it would have caused an all-out war in the Merchant’s Guild.  With how much the Guild runs and finances, the bloodshed that’d follow from competing interests would make what happened at the Winter Palace look like Child’s Play.  Only you wouldn’t see who or what did the killing – you’d probably just see the bodies in the streets._

 _The thing is, the Inquisition is disbanded.  I know, I know.  That doesn’t mean we aren’t going to try and stop you; but, I figured I’d be selfish on our friend’s behalf because I’m not sure she knows how to do it for herself.  I don’t know who your spies are or if they’re keeping an eye on just her or all of us.  I don’t know what type of intel you get, so I figured I’d let you know: Elle is broken.  And honestly?  I don’t know if anyone can put her back together.  Not even herself._  
  
_We both saw her journey.  She went from a pariah being threatened with execution, to the Herald for a religious figure she didn’t even believe in, to being chosen as leader by the people who were responsible for organizing the Inquisition.  No one asked her what she wanted.  They asked her to make decisions. They asked her to shoulder the responsibility of the safety of what was probably the entire world on her shoulders because of it.  I don’t think she ever wanted the job; but, damned if she would walk away from helping others.  After learning about what you did for the enslaved elvehn back in the day, about the burden that was both placed on you and that you in part took on yourself, I guess I’m still trying to figure out why the one person who could most appreciate her situation would just walk away._  
  
_Fix this.  Make it right.  You’re the only one who can._  
  
_V_  
  
  
A knock at the door interrupted Varric’s thoughts, and he glanced upwards from the start of the next letter.   
  
“Come in,” Varric replied, leaning back in his chair.   
  
“When Seneschal Bran said you were still here, I had to see it for myself,” replied a woman as she slipped into the room.  Silver now lightly colored an otherwise red mane of hair; but, Guard Captain Aveline showed little sign of slowing down.  Still clad in her armor, she approached Varric’s desk and deposited a letter on the desk.  
  
“Aren’t you supposed to be off duty, taking care of the kid or something like that?” Varric inquired.  The tone remained friendly; however, this evening Varric didn’t have it in him to smile.  Instead he moved a stack of the papers to the side and accepted the letter from her - taking a moment to glance over the contents.  
  
“That time already?” he inquired.  
  
“We’ll be gone for a fortnight.   I’ve made sure everything’s in order.  Guardsman Donnic, our daughter, and I will be enjoying some family time; but, the list of who is in charge is right there, and the Guard Rotation for the week has already been posted,” Aveline noted.   
  
“Are you sure I can’t convince you to let me put you up somewhere nice while you’re in Orlais?  I know some people in Val Royeaux.”  
  
“Varric – I cannot accept such gifts from the Viscount while I’m Captain of the Guard.  We’ve been over this.  It wouldn’t be right.  Donnic is of the same mind that I am in this.  We’ll be fine.  What about your friend?  Did she meet Merrill?”  
  
Varric frowned slightly at the inquiry; but, not at Aveline herself.     
  
“Orana said she saw her heading towards the Alienage.  To be honest, I’m not sure I did the right thing in encouraging Elle to meet with Daisy.  It could backfire.  She may not be ready.  I’m not good at dealing with things like this.  Elle’s not the kind of person who’d be a danger to anyone else; but, with the kinds of things she’s seen?  I can’t pretend this is going to be easy for her.”  
  
Aveline’s facial features softened at Varric’s response.  Her posture shifted to something less stiff and formal as she offered, “It isn’t going to be easy for you, either.  She isn’t the only who has been through a lot, Varric.  You should look after yourself too.”  
  
“I just got back from an extended vacation in Orlais, what’s there to take a break from?” Varic asked, shrugging his shoulders.  “I’ll be fine, Aveline.  I just have a few more letters to write and then I’m meeting the Inqu-, checking in on Ellana.  Now go mother hen your kid before she uses another painting for target practice.”  
  
Aveline’s departure allowed Varric to sigh and turn his attention back to his letter writing.   
  
  
  
_Dagna,_  
  
_I was wondering.  You know a lot about magic and smithing, being from the Smith Caste.  Do you remember those samples of Sha-Brytol armor I managed to smuggle out from – whatever kind of Titan Paradise we found?_  
  
_Hell, I still can’t believe that thing was real.  Anyways, you’ve probably already heard that the Inquisitor lost most of an arm.  Would it be possible to craft a prosthetic arm out of the stuff?  One the Inquisitor could, maybe manipulate through a lyrium bond of some kind?  Is that shit even possible? If it’s a project you’re interested in, I’ve got a space where you can set up shop._  
  
_Let me know,_  
  
_Varric Tethras_  
  
  
Meddling. The dwarf always found himself meddling. Hell, being a busy body got him elected to Viscount in the first place. He excelled at fixing things that were broken and making things happen. Those very qualities however also caused trouble - usually for the people closest to him. With Hawke it freed Corypheus from his prison. With Bianca, hell, he knew now how the Red Lyrium got to the Temple. For all he knew, he set the very events that took Lavellan away from her Clan into motion in the first place.

"Let's hope you're doing the right thing," he murmured, waiting until both letters dried to fold them for delivery. If he could even help Ellana with a fraction of her misery, hell, maybe the guilt would go away.

 

* * *

  
  
“…..”  
  
I’ve often wondered how Varric writes as well as he does.  It seems to come so easily to him; but, that may simply be an image he portrays.  I’ve seen him frustrated and angry; but, I can’t recall ever seeing him _sad_ or _l_ _ost_.  I’m sure he has felt those things.  Perhaps it’s the story writing that gets him through those periods in his life.  I should ask him for pointers.  I’ve spent the past hour and a half staring at a blank piece of paper, trying to figure out where to begin.   
  
The conversation with Merrill left me with the realization that I _need_ to try reforging my connection with my Keeper, even if I feel like rebuilding the connection to my Clan is pointless.  I have so much to share with her and so many questions; but, I hardly know where to begin.  The time away from Clan Lavellan and the things I have learned make me feel like there is a chasm separating us, even as I bring quill and ink to the paper.  
  
  
_Andaran atish’an Keeper,_  
  
                _When I first left for the Conclave I doubt either of us could have foreseen the events that would forever change Thedas.  At first, I found myself fighting to prove my innocence; but, somewhere along the way I continued to fight because restoring balance to the world in which we all live was the right thing to do.  You taught me that it was important to understand those we call neighbors so that we might better our Clan’s situation and the world around us. It is a lesson for which I am grateful; however, I cannot say that I am the same person anymore. You would hardly recognize me, I think._  
  
_I have learned things about our people – some of which I look forward to sharing.  But the bulk of what I have learned of Ancient Elvehn may be difficult to hear and even more difficult to believe.  Learning these truths has changed me and how I see the Dalish and that scares me.  I wish I could say that the human Chantry was responsible for planting foolish notions in my head; however, the Andrastians had precious little to do with it._  
  
_The Inquisition has disbanded and my time as the Inquisitor has come to an end.  I worry that my experiences will make me a poor fit for the Clan.  I worry about what you, my teacher, will think when you see me; but, the idea of never seeing any of you again distresses me even more.  For now, I am in Kirkwall.  The Viscount is a close friend from the Inquisition and has me staying at The Champion’s Estate until my new lodging is ready._  
  
_Would it be possible to see you, perhaps when your business with the Council next brings you to Wycome?  I admit – I feel so very lost and could use your guidance now more than ever._  
  
_Dareth Shiral,_  
  
_Ellana Lavellan_  
  
  
  
“You know I think Hawke used that desk more for reading letters than actually writing them,” Varrric says as he enters from the foyer.   
  
His sudden arrival startles me a bit, forcing me to look up from my letter.  Today was challenging in ways I hadn’t expected; but, after the bed rest I’m much more ‘with it’ in terms of making a few connections.  Varric, my dwarven friend who prides himself on _not_ having a beard, shows signs of being busy the past few days.  I can’t say that I’ve ever seen him sport stubble to quite this extent before.  Frazzled?  Sure.  But certainly not ill-groomed.  
  
“You look like hell, Varric,” I note softly.  
  
“What can I say? I’ve been busy,” he quips, taking a moment to sidle over to another nearby chair.  He flashes a slightly cheeky grin as he settles in and sighs a bit in relief.  “I would have been here earlier; but, the Captain of the Guard dropped in for a quick chat.”    
  
“I – uh – took the liberty of asking Orana to break in to Hawke’s stash of spirits.  You seemed so busy writing that I thought I should just let you finish.  She’ll have dinner ready in a bit; but, I figured while she worked on that I’d check in and see how the meeting with Merrill went,” he adds.  
  
I frown slightly as I listen – not because I’m upset with him; but, because I’m not sure _how_ it went myself.  I was there. I remembered what was said.  I just don’t understand what he _expects_ from it all and am not entirely sure what answer I should give.  My brow furrows as I turn away from the desk to more fully face him.  
  
“It was _painfully awkward_ ,” I explain, deciding to start there.  “One moment I feel like I’m talking to someone who’s a bit clueless and the next she sounds like a font of wisdom. It’s like I’m speaking to a mixture of Morrigan and Cole _after_ a lengthy Elfroot smoke session.”  
  
The description only garners a grin from Varric, who offers, “I admit, Daisy’s a bit of an acquired taste - even for other Dalish.  You should have seen her when she first came to Kirkwall.  Her Clan wasn’t as …friendly with humans so she hadn’t had a lot of exposure to cities.  She had to use twine to find her way around Kirkwall for a while.”  
  
“We started with questions.  I think we both had questions that we weren’t sure we wanted the other to know the answer to; but, she thinks it’s possible to help.  We must track down the key to an Eluvian which requires speaking with the Clans in the area.  I apparently have to do the talking so I thought I’d start by trying to connect with my Keeper.  Orana said Hawke makes use of reliable couriers so I thought I’d have it sent to Wycome,” I reply.  “But after speaking with Merrill, I’m not sure that any of this is a good idea.  Your book didn’t mention her Keeper getting killed or how she was responsible.”  
  
“Well …shit,” Varric replies, only to rub his face with a hand.  “I didn’t think you two would just dive on into the thick of it so quickly.  I guess I should have planned for that.  I wasn’t trying to hide it from you.  I respect your privacy as much as I do hers.  It just ..”  
  
He looks at me as his hand settles on the arm of the chair and when I don’t immediately respond he continues.   “She was in Ferelden before the shit hit the fan at Ostagar.  Some of her Clan stumbled upon an Eluvian that had been tainted by the blight.  She managed to cleanse it using blood magic; but, it was still broken.  She couldn’t get it to work.  The Clan didn’t approve of the use of blood magic or her willingness to speak with Demons and Spirits about it.  I’m still not sure how she managed to get it to the Free Marches; but, as far as I know, she had to ask for an item from her Clan to fix it.”  
  
I nod briefly at this revelation.  While I see blood magic as a tool that is not inherently evil in and of itself, consorting with demons can be dangerous and almost always ends poorly.  Largely because demons are spirits twisted from their original purpose.  Most Dalish Clans have superstitions regarding this, and so some of what Merrill said about her own origins makes more sense to me.   
  
“Most Dalish Clans don’t look upon consorting with demons or spirits favorably.  Merrill isn’t originally from the Clan where Hawke met her.  She was born into a Clan in Nevarra, which might explain some of her views about that in general,” I reply.  
  
One of Varric’s eyebrows arches at that revelation at which point he notes, “That’s news to me.  All I know is that she believed a Demon could tell her how to fix it when she couldn’t figure out how to make it work.  The Keeper? Decided she was going to imprison the demon in herself rather than let Merrill risk it.  She attacked first and we were forced to kill her.  It’s not the kind of thing you put into a book.  Blood magic? Sure!  Dalish Keepers willingly turning themselves into abominations? Not so much.”  
  
I am stunned momentarily into silence.  I can’t even begin to imagine what would encourage a Keeper to do such a thing.  Keepers have a duty to their Firsts; but, they also have a duty to the entire Clan.  Doing something like that would have potentially caused the entire destruction of The Clan.  When Orana arrives with dinner and drink in hand, I appreciate the distraction.  Space on a nearby table is cleared and we move there to eat – in awkward silence.  
  
“Where did this happen?” I inquire.   
  
“Sundermount.  The Demon’s long gone.  The Clan has long since moved on too.  Why do you ask?” he replies, looking at me a bit suspiciously.  
  
“A Keeper has a duty to the entire Clan – not just the First.  There are other ways to prevent possession by or communication with Demons and Spirits.  Housing the Demon inside her would imply that it knew something that she didn’t want the Clan to Know.  I’m not in shape to do anything about it right now; but, I’d like to try and find out what that something is.”  
  
I am half-expecting Varric to wag a finger or steer me away from it with words of sense; but, his face lights up a bit and he uses it as an opportunity to broach another subject.  
  
“About that,” he begins.  “I know you don’t need the other arm to perform magic and it’s not the same as having it back; but, we know some talented smiths.  I can’t promise anything will come from it; but, I sent a letter to Dagna.  I thought if anyone could figure out how to get you a working replacement, she could.”  
  
“You’re one meddlesome son of a bitch, Varric,” I reply after a few moments of stunned silence.  My facial expression breaks into that of the first smile I've given anyone since the start of the Exalted Council.  “And I’m lucky to have you as a friend.  Thank you.”   


	4. Portents of Change

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ellana Lavellan is pulled from a nightmare by unexpected visitors. A letter reaches Solas, pulling his attention away perhaps from where it should be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vena’em ma vhenan – Find me, my heart. 
> 
> Ma’tarlen – My lord
> 
> All translations come from the Elvehn DAI Translator made using the vocabulary from the Dragon Age Wiki and project Elvhen on AO3. The translator can be found [ here ](https://lingojam.com/ElvenDAI) and links to the wiki and Project Elvehn can be found at the bottom of the translator's page.

_“Mirth, and even cheerfulness, when employed as remedies in low spirits, are like hot water to a frozen limb.” – Benjamin Rush_

  
At Skyhold I loved the peace and quiet that came when I retired to my room.  It served as one of the few places where I could relax and express myself emotionally without fear of letting other people down.  On the days where I felt most stressed, I would enjoy a bowl of elfroot and let the crackling and popping of the fire take me back to the evenings spent around a campfire with my clan.  I was different then.  Or at least I feel like I am no longer the same person.   
  
Whereas I dove in to socializing with the people of Haven and later Skyhold, I now find myself shying away from the notion of gathering with people en masse.  Varric and Hawke have friends here and I don’t want to intrude on that nor do I want to make Varric feel like he is my only source of support.  As Viscount he has enough on his plate to deal with.  I’ve only been here a week and outside of brief interactions with the merchants of Hightown and Lowtown, Merrill is the only other person outside of Orana and Varric with whom I’ve had any meaningful conversation.

I once turned to memories of the Clan for comfort.  Thinking of them now only stirs anxiety and nighttime brings a new set of challenges.  I close my eyes and the only thing familiar to me in Hawke’s bedroom is the sound of the crackling fire in the hearth.  Minutes turn to hours of tossing and turning; but, eventually I drift off to sleep.  
  
_Vhenan._

  
  
Just hearing his voice brings a wash of emotions which force me to sit up in bed and allow my eyes to dart about the room.  The fact that the fire itself has been extinguished doesn’t deter me and instead I slide out of bed, using magic to rekindle the hearth.  Where orange flames once danced from the logs, veilfire burns in its place, and when I turn – I catch a glimpse of Solas seated in a chair across the room and find myself frozen in place, unable to move.  
  
“Solas,” I murmur, pained by a physical inability to reach him.  Am I dreaming?   
  
“I _will_ find you, _vhenan_.”    
  
What surprises me is when he glances upwards from his book and sets it down.  A seemingly pained expression crosses his face and he slowly approaches me; but, he doesn’t immediately speak.   
  
“ _Vena’em ma vhenan_ ,” he murmurs, bringing a hand upwards to caress the side of my face.  I am so caught up in the overwhelming sense of desire and longing, that I don’t mind his hand sliding down to the side of my neck.  
  
“I will.  I promise,” I blurt.

“I will. I promise,” he mimics, voice distorting marginally.  A confused expression crosses my face; but, before I can respond his hand grips my neck, lifting me upwards into the air.  
  
“Will this let me know you?” he inquires, visage changing to a shadowy figure of the man who holds my heart.  My inability to move remains, confusing me.  If this is a demon, I should be able to move; but, my limbs feel heavier than granite and though I feel my own magic at my fingertips, I struggle to focus it.   
  
“ **Let. Me. Go.** ” I order angrily, disgusted by the manner in which I so easily fell into this trap.  My attempts at intimidation are dismissed, and the sound of my own voice is first lost to the noise of heavy fighting in the background.  An invasion?  A riot?  What is going on?!

 

“Do you think you can defeat me?” the creature sneers.  Familiar words follow, leaving me with the impression that it is simply toying with me, feeding off of my fears.  “I am your every fear come to life!”  
  
There is no spirit of Faith or of the Divine to guide me.  Nor is there a group of my closest friends and allies to support me.  Green light emanates from behind the creature, re-creating the image of the breach in a room that no longer has a ceiling or roof. The result is something which fills me with a mixture of anger, fear, and nausea.  My head jerks as if slapped across the face and I feel the sting of the blow even as the demon tries to choke the life out off me.   
  
_Inquisitor!_

A voice?  
  
_Your worship!_

A second voice emerges, this time from behind me.  By this time, I’ve managed to bring my hands upwards and move towards the demon’s face, fire surrounding my fists.  
  
_It isn’t real, vhenan.  None of it is._

“Solas?”

  
The fire around my hands begin to show signs of turning to ice and only then do the words register, putting everything to place.  No wonder I’ve had no control here.  I was having a nightmare and didn’t even register it.  Before I can will my surroundings away however?  I’m hit with something very cold and very wet and jerk upright to a seated position in my bed once more – this time, drenched in water.  A familiar blonde elf stands at the end of the bed, with an empty bucket in hand.  Next to her stands a familiar forge-working dwarf and behind them I spy Orana looking on the whole scene with horror.

  
“You alright? It’s not some weird magey shite going on, is it?” Sera inquires, setting the bucket down on the ground. Her nose wrinkles in displeasure at the notion and she turns to glance at Orana and flash a grin.  “S’alright now, innit? Give us a bit and we’ll clear out.  We’re just here to pick up our friend here.”  
  
“Sera?” I inquire, wondering what trouble she’s about to pull me in to when Dagna approaches me.  At Skyhold, Dagna was always respectful – even if it was in a curious and creepy kind of a way.  The mark fascinated her and with her help we were able to unlock the secrets of Samson’s armor.  When she looks at me now, it is with a vaguely amused expression.  The fact that she doesn’t look at me and show any signs of immediate pity puts me at ease – even if I am still a little confused by what’s going on.  
  
“The viscount managed to get a letter to me while I was still in Val Royeaux,” Dagna happily explains as Sera escorts Orana out of the room.  Sounds of protest emerge from Hawke’s servant who indicates concerns about the burn marks and holes that have ruined several layers of bedding; but, they are quickly muffled when Sera closes the door.  She leans against it and glances over at us with a grin.  
  
“Figures.  Even the champion has a servant girl.  She better treat her well.  Pretty sure Charade will give Hawke hell if she doesn’t,” she states, only to push off of the door and saunter towards Dagna.   
  
“Before I got the letter, Sera was already trying to think of ways to outfit the arm with a crossbow of some kind.  But don’t worry – I’m fairly positive I can craft something much more utilitarian for you.  It just requires some research, some experiments, and,” Dagna begins, pausing to take a breath only when Sera leans on top of her head with an arm.  
  
“But she can’t do it here.  Varric has the space, right? Dagna has the setup and the bits for research in Cumberland. So we’re here to take you there.  So clean yourself up, and meet us downstairs.”  
  
“ _Now_?” I inquire confusedly, slipping out from under the covers.  It’s only when I’m standing and have had a chance to turn that I see the damage done to the bedspread and linens.  
  
“ _Pssh._ Yeah, _now,_ ” Sera retorts, folding her arms across her chest.  “I’m going to go downstairs and make sure your friend has the gold to pay for the new stuff.  When I come back up, you better have a bag prepared, or it’ll be the chamber pot I dump on you next.”  
  
“What Sera means is that everyone has been worried about you and we’d feel a lot better knowing you’re doing _something_ because we want to make sure you’re OK,” Dagna states, taking a moment to begin the process of nudging Sera towards the door.  It isn’t until they’re out of the room with the door closed, that I start grabbing the few things I have.   
  
“But I’m not okay,” I murmur.   
  
I’m not okay and I don’t know that I ever will be.  
  
What I _do_ know is in order to find Solas there are things I have to accomplish – and first on that list is acquiring a prosthetic arm.  Thankfully, I’ve grown accustomed to dressing myself with one arm.  I’m not as fast as I used to be; but, eventually I’m ready.   
  
“But maybe if I fake it, I will be.”

\---  
  
Rare was the opportunity when Solas had time to himself; but, after parting from his heart once more, that was in part by design. Night had fallen and the stars sparkled above the temporary sanctuary which Solas erected in the mountainous region of The Hundred Pillars.  After the Qunari plot and Inquisition forces compromised the safe haven from the days of the rebellion, Fen’Harel and his most trusted advisors had devised a mobile place of safety, staying in a location for no less than thirty days; but, no more than ninety days at a time.  With the assistance of spirits and talented mages, they kept the magical signature of their wards hidden, making tracking their movements nigh impossible. The system was not entirely foolproof; however, thus far the _Ben-Hassrath_ and the Archon’s network of spies had yet to make any kind of headway in locating them.  
  
“ _Ma’tarlen_ ,” a male voice announced, shortly before the associated figure lifted the flap leading into the tent.  The _vallaslin_ marking the elf as one bound to Mythal became more visible upon entering into the area lit by a fire within a brazier.  Once inside, he pulled his hood backwards revealing blonde stubble growing where the elf had been previously bald.  
  
“I am no one’s lord, Abelas – least of all yours, my friend,” Solas replied as the former temple guardian offered a respectful greeting.  When he first encountered the leader of Mythal’s protectors, Abelas had freshly awakened from _Uthenera_ , and still held a pallor marked by the magic and lack of exposure to the light.  Not quite two years had passed since the _harellan_ first encountered the other mage and the time Abelas spent gathering those elvehn who would listen had changed him - proper nourishment returning color of a more natural hue to his skin.   
  
“When it is just the both of us, please use my name.  I want to be reminded that pride is no ally in what we seek to accomplish,” Solas explained, offering a self-deprecating smile.  
  
It is only when Abelas closes the distance that the temple mage speaks, albeit at a low volume.  “The recruits from the Alerion clan are just outside and as they are new, I would prefer to instill a sense of discipline in them to help ensure their survival.  Hence the formality.”  
  
“They’ve arrived then?” Solas inquired, hands clasped behind his back.  
  
“Yes.  One speaks of one lost to them because of her magic, given to Clan Sabrae – and we may have a way by which to keep track of Ellana Lavellan because of it.”  
  
‘ _Vhenan,’_ the _harellan_ thought to himself.  His relationship with the inquisitor was not unknown to Abelas and for that reason Solas did not bother to hide the hard gaze that accompanied his sudden interest.  There were many things he had learned from the woman who held his heart.  Learning to trust in those you relied on the most was just one example of many – though it could be said of his advisors that only Abelas had earned that trust.   
  
  
  
“Explain,” Solas stated simply, moving towards the table and two chairs which he had commandeered for his personal tent.  While his needs weren’t many – a seat from which he could read and speak with guests were things the rebel saw as necessity and not luxury. _  
  
_ “ _Tales of the Champion_ mentions a Keeper’s First who left Clan Sabrae to accompany Hawke out of a desire to reclaim relics of elvehnan,” Abelas began, clasping his own hands behind his back.  Whereas his friend chose to seat himself, the former temple guardian stood at attention as he provided a summary of the details.  
  
“Merrill, yes.  I believe Master Tethras has a nickname for her.  _Daisy_ , isn’t it?” Fen’Harel inquired.  
  
“Our agent in Kirkwall has been keeping an eye on her.  She has in her possession an Eluvian which we have yet to locate.  A few days ago, a letter addressed to you mysteriously appeared at a shrine dedicated to you near Sundermount.  It carries no trace of magic on it, so he made sure to place it in the hands of one of our most skilled runners,” Abelas replied, procuring the parchment from its hiding place within a glove.   
  
“The seal is unbroken and shows no signs of tampering.  I thought it best it remain for your eyes only,” he added, handing the letter over to the other mage.  
  
Solas accepted the parchment from the other elf, pausing only to regard it curiously.  A light sniff of the paper brought a more quizzical expression to his face.  “It smells faintly of alcohol and smoke,” he noted, mildly amused.  The seal bore no particular distinction; but, the lingering scent told Solas all he needed to know.   
  
“Our intelligence suggests that neither Divine Victoria nor Briala’s informants have any kind of presence with Kirkwall.  Master Tethras’ doing no doubt.  The Merchants’ Guild is not eager to allow any chantry or Orlesian influence in an area where children of the Stone, even if surface born, maintain a strong presence,” the rebel explained, opening to read the letter.  
  
While reading the letter, Solas’ expression changed, amusement giving way to a brief expression of deep sadness.   
  
_Make it right. You’re the only one who can._  
  
After a moment’s hesitation, Solas found a new, albeit hardened sense of resolve.  He wanted to put as much distance between his love and him as possible; but, if his dwarven friend's word were to be believed, that may have done more harm than good.   
  
_Meddlesome Child of the Stone._

  
“I will meet with Merrill myself.  Not in person; but, through other means.  Have our agent place something that would easily be recognized as his at the tree in the alienage.  If the Inquisitor is in as rough shape as our dwarven friend suggests, avoiding detection should be a simple task.  Just in case, have our agent in Clan Lavellan encourage Keeper Deshanna to pay her a visit.  It should keep her distracted long enough.”  
  
Abelas brought his hand to his chest and bowed to the leader he had come to call friend.  
  
“At once, my lord.”


	5. Reunion #1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a frustrating first day of travel from Kirkwall, Dagna reunites Ellana with a former mentor, giving the Inquisitor the chance to relax.

_“To be busy minding other people’s business, is to leave one’s personal business unattended to.” – Edmond Mbaika_

 

Though the end of summer neared as we embarked on our journey to Cumberland the summer rainy season still lingered along the Northern Coast of the Waking Sea.  Our first day of travel proved a challenge in ways that I hadn’t expected.  Whereas Dagna and Sera rode atop horses, I had the benefit of traveling atop a halla willing to carry me.  It had become second nature to me during my time with the Inquisition; but, now it was easier to forget my center of balance had changed.   Much of my concentration for the trip has been focused on my abdomen and thighs to help me maintain my seat, and what isn’t put towards that is channeled into using something that Solas taught me to keep the rain from thoroughly soaking me.   
  
“You doin’ alright, Inky?” Sera inquires from behind me.  Dagna and Sera insist on me traveling in the middle, for my own protection; but, it feels like constantly having eyes on me all over again.  The only difference is now I don’t have a place of my own to which I can retreat.  It dawns on me how much I crave space; but, recognize that I may not yet be at the point of keeping it all together.  The situation frustrates me, and my back stiffens in response.  
  
“Didn’t you ask her that like an hour ago?” Dagna responds, turning in her saddle to glance back at the both of us.  She has done her best to be the peace-keeper.  I know she and Sera are together; but, she seems to have a sense of something that I don’t.  
   
“Yeah; but, now she’s getting all droopy and stuff,” Sera retorts, talking over me.  My reluctance to respond to her has resulted in her talking about me like I’m not even here.  


“The man I love is one of the most powerful mages Thedas has likely ever seen.  The Gods I once believed in are nothing more than mages who enslaved their own people. My culture is based on a lie, and last I knew your stance on all things elvish was ‘get over it already’.  I’m still wrapping my head around the loss of my arm and the whole experience of being Inquisitor, and you decide it’s _infinitely_ better to poke at wounds that haven’t even healed yet,” I snap, fatigue getting the better of me.  
  
“Your idea of dealing with your problems is to ignore them and poke your nose into other people’s business, and while I appreciate you as a friend and a person, you’ll forgive me if I don’t enjoy talking about the things that are on my mind.”  
  
“Well you should just get over it, yeah?” Sera inquires.  I don’t bother to turn around to see the expression on her face.  I don’t need to when I can practically hear the sneer and disdain in her voice.  
  
“Your Clan’s moved on. Wycome, yeah?  They get it.  Why cling to a bunch of rubbish? Can’t get why you’d miss it, or still pine for that egg-headed piss bucket. What kind of person falls for a wanker like that anyways?”  
  


‘ _A damned fool, that’s what,’_ I think to myself.  I don’t know if it’s anger I’m directing towards myself or towards Sera’s general lack of respect; but, I can feel it building.   
  
“Someone who doesn’t reject who or what she is.  I’m still elvehn, Sera, as are you, even if we don’t fully understand or know what that means.  The difference is you run away from it, like you run away from everything.  I don’t.”  
  
“Well, the sun is about to start setting,” Dagna interjects with a slightly raised tone of voice.  Leave it to A Child of the Stone to try to be the peacekeeper.  I know this isn’t typical of all dwarves; but, I appreciate it none the less.  Dagna is the last person I want to subject to these urges to lash out, especially when she has always tried to remain blunt without being insulting.  It’s a characteristic I keep hoping will rub off on Sera.   
  
“We should probably stop here, where we have some cover and make camp for the night,” she continues, taking a moment to judge the terrain and incline of the land.  She chooses well and has an eye for it, which helps ensure we don’t end up soaked because of water building up around us.  
  
“There are some ruins I want to check out before the sun finishes setting.  Just for a quick translation of some elven.  No excavations, I promise,” she adds.  The expression on her face is a hopeful one as she regards her partner.  “Sera? Think you could set up camp?”  
  
As I dismount my Halla, I catch the hurt expression on Sera’s face and wince inwardly.  To my surprise however, she waves a hand.  “Go on,” she replies, seeming comfortable with the notion, and before I know it, Dagna is leading me a bit further into the forest, though towards the base of the mountain range along which the forest sits.  


It isn’t until I’m sure we’re out of range of Sera that I note, “My clan traveled near here every so often; but, the only ruins in this direction that I know of, are Dwarven.”  I am more curious than I am upset, largely because this provides a small distraction and gives me time to try and calm myself.  
  
“The Glendel Ruins, yes,” Dagna replies.     
  
She hesitates for a moment; but, my dwarven friend pushes on.  
   
“You’re not wrong about Sera.   She told me I’m the first relationship she hasn’t run away from,” Dagna admits.   
  
“I’m _really_ worried about her; but, she won’t talk about it – and encouraging her to try just gets her angry.  I’m sure she realizes she’s doing the same to you – trying to force you to talk about something before you’re ready. But, that’s not why we’re out here,” she explains.  Our steps take us further in and towards the ruins; but, as we do – I can feel us step across a boundary of some kind.  


“ _Dagna_ ,” I emphasize – a little too impatiently.  The sharpness of my own tone makes me pause and breathe deeply.  The _indomitable_ focus of which Solas spoke is lacking, and I am reminded of this by the dampness of my clothes.     
  
“That tone was unworthy of me.  I apologize,” I reply, this time more gently.  “Solas once said that she was far from whom or what she was supposed to be.  I thought he referred to the state of elves of this day and age compared to the knowledge of life for ancient elvehn.”  
  
“When we found the Cradle of Sulevin – he spoke differently – as if it was all supposed to _mean_ something to her.  It’s hard for me to think clearly right now.  Everything’s a mess.  _I_ am a mess.  If Sera ever wants or needs to help, she has only to ask; but, right now I barely even know how to be there for myself.  We’re all raw and worn; but, right now Sera and I get along as well as oil and water.”  
  
“I know,” Dagna replies quickly.   “And I know we made a mess of things by coming to you the way we did.  Sera insisted and trying to stop her when she has decided to do something is like trying to butt heads with a druffalo, and I’m no Iron Bull.”   
  
We continue in our trek, letting silence pass between us for a time – at least until I see the flickering of a campfire, or the shadows of one against a stone wall.     
  
“I’m more like Varric, really.  I try to leave well enough alone; but, sometimes I just _can’t_.  So I contacted a mutual friend of ours and asked him to meet us.  What you do is your business; but, I thought maybe giving you and Sera a little more space while the both of you are so ..raw, would be better.  We’ll be in Cumberland waiting, whenever you’re ready.”

  
  
A familiar scent comes from the fire – an herbal blend I’ve not encountered since I was younger, when Keeper Deshanna encouraged me to study with a healer of our people.   The aroma is both calm and welcoming and it’s only then that I become more aware of the way in which my muscles ache from the ride.  
  
“I wasn’t keen on the idea of the ruse either, _da’len;_ but when I heard of some of what you have been through, I wanted to see you for myself, with my own eyes,” a gentle, male voice offers.  The figure that accompanies it emerges from a tent erected outside the ruins, though the stonework does help to provide a sturdy place to set up camp.  
  
“Our scouts have informed me that the deep roads can no longer be accessed this way.  I’ve checked the area thoroughly myself to make sure there are no signs of this red lyrium Dagna mentioned.  We are _safe_ here.”  
  
Aneirin is not a typical Dalish Mage.  Born in an alienage he was taken to a circle when very young. He eventually escaped; but, was not taken in by a Clan until after templars left him for dead.  His talents as a _healer_ were what encouraged one Clan to take him in – where he eventually earned his vallaslin.  To prevent Templars from being attracted to said Clan, he never stayed with one Clan for very long, only spending a few years at a time with any that would allow it.   
  
His gifts, his skill, and his thoughtfulness earned him not only a position of respect among the Dalish – it earned him a title as well.  Things which Dalish do not easily give, especially not to those not born to a Clan outright.   
  
_Aneirin the Healer._

 __  
  
I am unprepared for the wash of emotions that run over and for a moment all I can do is stand there, as if I were meeting him for the first time all over again.  To see someone who had once been a teacher to me; but, had also been a part of two different worlds, brings a sense of vulnerability _and_ relief.  Wordlessly, feeling almost like a child I slowly approach the camp fire.  

“Dagna?” I inquire briefly; but, only after I sit down and breathe deeply of the scented wood and herbs burning within the fire.   
  
“ _Thank you_.”  
  
“You’re welcome your wor,” Dagna replies, only to pause and correct herself.  “You’re welcome Elle. And like I said, we’ll be there whenever you’re ready.”

 

\--  
  
Silence follows Dagna’s departure as I sit at the campfire.  Aneirin’s presence is a calming one and while I do not believe he would judge me unduly, I’m not quite sure where to begin.  It would be easier to lose myself in watching and listening to the fire as it burns.    
  
“Do you remember the stories I would tell of my time at the Kinloch Circle?” he inquires gently while filling a small cauldron with water.  Ingredients are placed around him and he makes use of the shelter provided by some of the stone facing.   
  
“You were very patient with my never-ending stream of questions, as I seem to recall,” I reply quietly.  The faint hint of amusement is there in my voice, even if I can’t quite bring myself to smile right now. 

My time spent with him was often focused on learning how to regulate and hone magical energies , and about the principles of magical healing.  On nights much like these, I would help him skin whatever we had managed to catch and help prepare the meal.  I’m ashamed to admit I don’t know how I might help now, before a prosthetic, and I’m feeling insecure about asking.

“You were always so inquisitive – wanting to learn things from more than just the Dalish perspective,” he replies, focusing on chopping up what appears to be dried mushrooms and other rations with which to make a soup.    While he doesn’t look away from his task, I find myself taking comfort in his presence.  


I don’t know how to respond to his statement without directing undeserved anger and bitterness in his direction, so instead of attempting a response, I simply listen.   
  
“I had the opportunity to meet with my former mentor some years ago, as she traveled with the Hero of Ferelden.  They were attempting to aid the Clan I traveled with at the time, to secure the help of the Dalish in the area.  The Hero of Ferelden supported Dagna’s desire to go to the circle to study; but, it was my mentor, Wynne, who supplied the personal recommendation to the First Enchanter.  Dagna and I met at Wynne’s urging, so that she might gain insight from a mage who had lived both in the Circle and with the Dalish,” he explains, making his first trip to the campfire. 

  
  
“You were in contact with her while she was with the Inquisition,” I observe, slowly.  “I received letters from Keeper Deshanna; but, never from you.  Why is that?”  
  
“You had the weight of the world on your shoulders and were surrounded by people I knew to be capable.  With all your advisors and the people under you, I thought one more voice added to the chorus would do more harm than good,” he replies as he hangs the cauldron to heat over the fire.  

“You still have your friends; but, you are no longer surrounded by them.  Dagna told me the Inquisition had disbanded; but, tactfully refrained from providing any specific details.  Most of Thedas sees you as a figure worthy of respect; yet, I sense you still shoulder a great burden, and grieve deeply.”  
  
I don’t know how to respond at first.  I know Aneirin enough to tell when he’s providing an opportunity to talk about something.  It is a gentle nudge and not a push that he offers.  With him there have never been many expectations – only an open ear.   While I may have refrained from telling Merrill much of what I have learned, I can’t find the desire to show such restraint here.  Perhaps it’s because I feel like he of all people might understand.  
  
“If I said most of what the Dalish believed of the stories of Elvehnan and the Gods was based in part on lies, how would that make you feel?” I ask aloud, marginally startled by the weariness I hear within it.  
  
“I would say I am not surprised,” my former mentor replies, though he glances up from moving g ingredients to the cauldron once the water begins to boil.   
  
Once again he doesn’t ask me about the specifics.  The soup he prepares will take a while yet to prepare and here I feel reassured.   
  
“Then this may be of interest to you,” I note, managing a small smirk before beginning the story of the things that I learned during the Exalted Council.


	6. Disillusioned Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ellana shares what she learned of Fen'Harel and the Evanuris with Aneirin. Exhausted - she lets her guard down and meets a visitor in the fade. She awakens somewhat refreshed and finds a small spark of motivation within once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ir abelas=I'm sorry
> 
> Elgar'las=Spirit of Hope
> 
> Athlas ma'melin=Call my name
> 
> Mar lin eolasas=Your blood knows
> 
> Fen'las=Wolf of Hope

_The sharp scent of lightning lingered about the charred ground as I slipped through yet another Eluvian.  Distracted by the anchor’s more violent pulses, it took me a moment to look up to see a marble statue.  Startled, I turned away from it – continuing to follow the Viddasala.  Solas’ voice served as my guide and I watched as she ignored the opportunity he gave to her: the opportunity to live and walk away.  I was troubled less by her becoming stone knowing this, especially after experiencing the accounts left behind by the elvehn whom Solas helped during the slave rebellion.  This wasn’t something he wanted.  It was something he felt he must do.  
  
“Solas,” I managed; but, I cried out as the anchor flared to life – forcing me to my knees.  He approached me and before I knew it, the anchor had calmed once more, allowing me to look up at him as I pushed myself to my feet.   
  
“That should give us more time,” he explained.  His voice – his facial expression – they reflected pain and sorrow.  “I suspect you have questions.”  
  
Had this been what he really wanted to share with me that night in the grotto?  He removed the vallaslin as a gesture to show how much I meant to him as Fen’Harel had done for those he freed from servitude to false gods.  
  
“You’re Fen’Harel.”  
  
_  
  
A warm, familiar hand rests upon my shoulder and squeezes it gently.  It isn’t until he gently separates the cup from my hand that my thoughts return to the present from reliving the memory.  Only then do I recognize the presence of tears streaming down my face. I feel many things – including shame; but, I’m not ashamed of what we shared, or of what I said to him that day.  
  
Of all the things that have happened to me in the last three years – watching Solas leave had proven to be the most painful experience.  The truth about the elvehn Gods, the Evanuris, has shaken my sense of identity; but, it has not destroyed it nor does this change the fact that I am elvehn.  Having learned of what he did for the people and for the world, to avoid the worst possible outcome, how could I hold resentment or hatred in my heart for him?  Fool that I am, it makes me love him even more.  The idea of never seeing him again - or worse – of him dying alone, haunts me.   
  
“How long have I been like this?” I inquire hoarsely.  The tightness in my chest and knot in my stomach make their presence acutely known.  For three years I did what I thought was best with no time to really process any of it.  Now? Now it’s catching up to me and the overwhelming sense of grief and sorrow is more than I can handle alone.  With how thoroughly the Qunari and Agents of Fen’harel compromised the Inquisition, I struggle to discern what is safe to share, how much to share, and with whom.   
  
“Long enough,” Aneirin responds.    
  
My eyes are drawn to the fire.  The flames no longer burn brightly; but, the embers still burn.  It dawns on me only then that I focused more on the story than on the food; but, my head feels heavy. I barely manage to lift my chin upwards to look at my former mentor and friend, even as he crouches in front of me.  Before I realize it, my forehead rests against his; but, the gesture is interrupted by my body slumping against him.   
  
“ _Ir abelas lethalin,”_ I manage, only faintly aware of his arms lifting me off the ground.  The scent of herbs and earth clings to his clothing and for the first time since leaving for the Conclave, I feel like I’m home, even if only for a small while.   He murmurs something to me; but, before I can make sense of the words, exhaustion wins out and I am overcome by darkness.

 

\--  
  
The gamut of injuries to which Aneirin had been exposed as a healer was not insignificant. He had tended the injuries from varying kinds of combat – magical and otherwise – while in Ferelden.  It was usually a Hahren or Keeper’s place to provide counsel on more spiritual and personal matters; but, after listening to Ellana’s account of the Exalted Council, he knew that sharing it with just anyone might do more harm than good.   
  
“ _Elgar’las_ , what have we done to you?” Aneirin inquired softly as he regarded her sleeping form.   Only he, Keeper Mahariel, and Keeper Deshanna knew of the omens that accompanied her birth.  The presence of a White Wolf had not been documented since the time of the Emerald Knights, and yet one appeared to Keeper Deshanna shortly after Ellana’s birth.   
  
‘ _Her birthright_ ,’ Keeper Deshanna had explained.   ‘ _She is a dreamer.  One day she will have the weight of the world on her shoulders._ ’  
  
How Keeper Deshanna convinced the Keeper of Clan Ghilain to share an ancient and seldom used ritual, Aneirin wasn’t sure; but, in the end its use sealed away Ellana’s abilities as a dreamer.  Aneirin’s experience with magic that often came from spirits or bargains with them gave him unique insight into the level of focus a dreamer might one day require.  It was why he had served as her mentor for a time.   
  
Why the Keeper of Clan Lavellan hadn’t divulged Lavellan’s talents and so-called ‘birthright’ to her, he couldn’t say.  The seal remained in place; but, whether a result of her work with the anchor or the exposure to the fade, the seal had weakened. A presence of some kind held it in place; but, the nature of said presence was something he didn’t understand.  It felt ancient; and yet, something had muffled it, making it difficult to identify.  
  
All he knew was that the Dalish First whom had become a symbol of hope for Thedas now had very little hope in her heart.  Determination and purpose, perhaps.  But there was very little hope in the worn features of the woman who now rest in his tent.  She needed time to heal; but, he had no reason to believe that what Ellana said wasn’t true.  That being the case, he recognized that there was little time of that to be had.   
  
“Don’t dwell on the past,” he murmured, running a hand through his hair.  For the time being he would focus on the present and as far as he was concerned, that meant being by Ellana’s side.  His time spent with the Clans had come to an end.  Quietly he seated himself near his former charge, closing his own eyes.  If she needed him – he would be there.

_\--_

_Emerald Graves_

I don’t have a good sense of how long I’ve been asleep; but, at least now I’m able to recognize when I’m dreaming.  When last I saw the Emerald Graves, Solas traveled with us.  Now I stand here in the fade without him by my side.  The trees planted to mark those whom had dedicated themselves to the defense of the Dales stand in a circle here – and I in the center.  
  
‘ _Athlas ma’melin_ ’ a voice urges.  
  
_Call my name._  
  
“Who are you?” I ask.   While Solas kindled a passion for learning ancient elvehn within me, I relied heavily on the voices from the _Vir Abelasan_ to help fill in the blanks.  With the mark gone and my connection to the Well muddled, I find myself using what I have learned and am uncertain as to how much I actually understand.  
  
‘ _Mar lin eolasas,’_ it replies, and out of the corner of my eyes I see a flicker of white darting and weaving among the grove of trees.  Its movement is faster than I can follow so for a moment I’m not sure with whom or what I am speaking.  My heart and my mind is weary, making centering difficult; but, I do try.  Closing my eyes, I allow my senses to expand.  The presence closest to me carries an older resonance akin to something I once felt at _Din’an Hanin_.   
  
‘ _Not demonic then.  Good,’_ I tell myself; but, I’m not entirely certain what this creature or spirit intends.   
  
It is believed that each Dalish Clan is descended from a noble who lived in the Dales when Halamshiral was still ours.  Some clans claim lineage to an Emerald Knight.  Clan Ghilain claims lineage to Ameridan. I know enough to realize that connection may not be the whole of what the presence means.

‘ _Athlas ma’melin,’_ it says once more.  There is neither command nor temptation within the words or presence itself.   My attention shifts to each of the trees within the circle until it feels as if the small grove spins around me.  Glimpses of memories and images come to mind and for the briefest of moments in front of each tree is the image of the corresponding Emerald Knight.  Alongside each Knight stands a large wolf.   
  
The name comes to me; but, it is not in the Fade that I say it.  Instead, the scent of something else pulls me towards the waking world and I wake within what I assume is Aneirin’s tent with the name fresh upon my lips.  
  
“ _Fen’las_ ,” I murmur to myself, trying to make a connection.   Hopeful wolf? Wolf of Hope?  It isn’t something on which I have a chance to focus for very long.   My stomach rumbles, reminding me I have not eaten since before departing Kirkwall.   It takes me a moment to get to my feet; but, when I do I emerge from the tent to see my friend tending the Halla that carried me from Kirkwall. 

“You’re awake,” Aneirin notes warmly, turning to greet me.   “Good.  There is much I would like to share with you; but, first we must focus on some training.”  
  
“….Training?” I inquire.  
  
“Your focus,” he replies, pulling away from the Halla to toss a pack to me.  It’s the one in which I packed rations for the trip.   
  
“When Dagna contacted me, she mentioned the limb she intends to craft for you.   It seems she is using a technique to re-shape armor that was originally lyrium-bound to the skin,” he explains.   
  
Out of respect for Valta, I don’t speak of the armor’s name nor do I talk about the Deep Roads.  Unless I hear rumors of sightings or am contacted by the Shaperate, that’s one topic I’d just as avoid.  The Sha-Brytol were strange enough; but, I’m still not entirely sure that the Dwarven people are ready to learn about Titans.    I’m still trying not to think about the impact knowledge of the Evanuris will have on the Dalish.   
  
So when Aneirin flashes me a slightly expectant expression, I nod and use that as an opportunity to steer the conversation.   
  
“You’re worried about side-effects?” I ask with a small tilt of my head.   
  
“I am,” he admits.   “You have always had exceptional focus whenever you’ve applied yourself; but, I’m afraid having not worked with you for some time, I don’t know what kind of exposure you’ve had to more advanced techniques.  Maintaining multiple magical effects is one thing; but, doing so in a way which allows you to maintain a low profile is another entirely.”  

“…..Is that how the templars caught up to you?”     
  
The question lingers there in part because I’m curious.    Keepers train their Firsts well and do maintain different effects; but, I get the feeling he’s talking more about techniques acquired through a more scholastic approach.  Thoughts of Dorian’s discussions with Solas and Vivienne come to mind, making me smile faintly at the notion of it all.   
  
“No.  They had my phylactery,” Aneirin replies, glancing at me pointedly.   It takes a few moments for me to process and as realization dawns on what I perceive as my stupidity, I just lower my head into my hand.   
  
“I don’t think that’s the most stupid question I’ve ever asked; but, it certainly comes close,” I murmur.  Feeling embarrassed, I try to find the words for an apology; but, it’s his chuckle that leaves me a little surprised.  
  
“But if I had spent time honing those techniques before escaping from the Circle, who knows what I might have accomplished,” he responds, only to gesture to a bit of dry stone.  “If you want to use your new limb as you would use the one you still have, you will need to train yourself in such a way that you learn to manipulate the energy in your sleep.”  
  
“I know it was possible for the ancient elves; but, we don’t exactly have the strongest connection to the fade,” I note, a little confused.  As a Spirit Healer – I suppose that it’s theoretically possible for him to do something like that, due to his own bargains and magics over the years.  And once again I find myself grimacing at my own words.  Fortunately, Aneirin just listens and responds patiently – as he did with me as a child.  
  
“You do,” Aneirin notes.  
  
“Even before the anchor you had one.  You’re a Dreamer, Ellana.   Keeper Deshanna sealed those abilities away because those Keepers who knew how to teach Dreamers already had their hands full,” he explains.   
  
“ _What_?” I inquire flatly.   It isn’t so much that there is surprise at this point so much as it feels like one more thing that people have tried to hide.  Knowing this does provide an edge in facing or finding  Solas now; but, I’m too frustrated to reflect on that for long.   
  
“I suspect she had intended to tell you after the Conclave.  It was your first time to represent Clan Lavellan was it not?” he suggests softly, coming to my Keeper’s defense.   It’s only after a few moments that I sigh, exhaling as I focus on letting that knee-jerk reaction go.   
  
“Yes,” I reply.  There is a big difference in earning one’s vallaslin and fulfilling one’s purpose to the Clan and representing the Clan’s interests to the outside world.   The explosion, Divine Justinia sacrificing herself to save me, it complicated things.  It changed _everything_.   
  
“One more thing Corypheus undermined,” I mutter bitterly.  My attention shifts to the stone to which Aneirin previously gestured.  I finally pull out some food from the pack then drop it at the tent’s entrance.   
  
“I’ve some experience in circulating energy that minute; but, not through me – not quite like that.  Solas showed me a trick to keep the rain off me; but, I’ve had problems concentrating as of late,” I explain, pausing to quickly shove a handful of hard-tack in my face.  It isn’t the prettiest thing as my table manners aren’t required; but, it does get something in so I have energy to burn.

  
“After what you experienced, I’m not surprised _da’len_ ,” Aneirin replies quietly.  The apologetic expression on his face makes me feel a little guilty.  As a Spirit Healer, he more than anyone is probably sensitive to the pain or burden a person carries on their shoulders.   This stirs something deep within me.  
  
Somewhere – amidst the frustration and bitterness is the desire to succeed.  It may not be for my sake, not yet.  But for the man whom has always listened without judgment and without expectations, I want to try. Wiping my mouth with the back of my hand, I approach the flat stone slab and take a seat, preparing to meditate and put this into practice.  
  
We have a lot of work to do.


End file.
